


dick in a box

by treesramblings



Series: twelve days of stuckony [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Beefy Bucky Barnes, Fade to Black, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, MIT Era, Size Difference, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28363773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treesramblings/pseuds/treesramblings
Summary: Tony is forced to stay at MIT over Christmas break 1987 with ababysitter. He's less than pleased.Then Tony meets his guard. Tony is pretty sure what follows isn't what Howard expected to happen.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Series: twelve days of stuckony [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073828
Comments: 17
Kudos: 194





	dick in a box

**Author's Note:**

  * For [resurrectedhippo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectedhippo/gifts).



> thank you to [sapph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphic_Futurist) for betaing my mistakes. shine bright, my dear (:
> 
> this idea is 100% the fault of my love [hippo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectedhippo). I adore you, my wife x
> 
> I hope you enjoy! please mind the underage tag and know your limits!

The crackling of the telephone line is the icing on the cake. This apartment complex’s telephone lines are all shit, and Tony has been told time and time again that he isn’t allowed to modify them.

“Dad, I won’t get in the way of your stupid meeting! Mom and I can have an _actual_ family Christmas while you’re off doing your business!”

“Anthony,” Howard sighs, like Tony’s emotions are a hindrance. Tony bristles at the tone and name. “I can’t have you around to even chance messing it up. This is too important for me to be able to just play off one of your accidents or explosions. Not to mention your partying at MIT is fucking up my reputation. Do you know _just how much work_ I had to put into this meeting? I won’t let you screw it up. Surely you understand that.”

Red creeps into Tony’s vision. He’s seventeen, not a _fucking child_. “You could screw it up on your own, old man, without me even having to do a thing!”

“That is _enough_! I’m sending you a bodyguard. I don’t trust you to stay put and not run off to the Van Dynes or elsewhere. You’re not fucking up all my hard work. You don’t get a choice. And don’t even try to get away from him—there will be consequences you can’t even imagine.”

Tony slams a hand against the wall, and his voice rises in anger. He’s almost shaking with it, he’s so enraged, and he shouts into the receiver, “I don’t need a babysitter! I’m a grown-ass adult!”

“We’re done,” Howard responds. His voice is icy, dripping with condensation and anger. “You will behave for him or you will not be happy the next time you see me.”

The dial tone echoes in his ear.

* * *

The next day, Tony’s guard ( _babysitter_ ) shows up. Tony slams open the door and stares at him, frustration consuming every iota of his being. He rakes his eyes up his form and hates himself a little for being intrigued.

His outfit is made from Kevlar, that much Tony can tell right off the bat. It’s dark, black on black, like looking into the center of a black hole. He has on thick boots and knee pads with straps criss crossing over his thighs—knife handles stick out from the straps, and twin guns sit holstered on either leg. His belt is bulky, attached to one of the holsters, and it leads up to a—a—

 _Wow_.

His chest is _thick_ , bulky and big and _large_ , and the material covering it is even thicker than the pants, molding against his chest like a second skin. Tony’s brain short circuits for a minute, taking in the mass of muscles presented to him, before his eyes trail over his arms.

His—metal arm?

Tony is going to have a field day with this guard.

He finally manages to take in the guard’s face, which has a full mask covering up to his eyebrows. His hair is long, hanging down to his shoulders, brunet and soft and begging to be touched.

Fuck. Tony is fucked.

* * *

The guard could totally kill Tony in the blink of an eye. Maybe with a flicker of his pinkie.

Tony has a healthy dose of fear for his guard, it’s true, but he’s also aware of the situation he’s in. The guard is supposed to protect Tony. He’s not supposed to hurt him.

It’s enough for Tony to decide he’s going to test his luck.

“Hey.”

The guard doesn’t respond.

“So, uh, what’s your name?”

Silence.

“You… do know how to speak, don’t you?”

Nothing.

Tony will figure this man out. He has all the time in the world, after all, what with the guard being confined to Tony’s apartment for the next month.

He pokes his guard’s flesh arm first. Testing the waters. The guard turns his face toward Tony’s. Tony doesn’t know what his face does, just feels his pulse building up, and drops his gaze. Somehow he knows the guard had been looking right into Tony’s eyes.

Later, he tries to sneak up on him. It ends about as well as Tony had expected: the guard catches Tony’s hands before they can land on his shoulders, and his grip isn’t _tight_ , but it’s controlling, commanding Tony to follow where he wants Tony to go, and a shiver rockets down his spine.

He tries the different touches and gets nothing. After breakfast one day, he lies on the couch with a dramatic groan while his guard sits in the armchair, arms crossed, in the corner of the room. Like always, he doesn’t seem to be looking at anything.

“Come on, man. You’re no fuckin’ fun. Don’t you hate this assignment? Having to watch a teenager instead of doing whatever it is bodyguards for corrupt and evil fathers do for Christmas? This shit blows, dude.”

Tony doesn’t let himself react, just widens his eyes when the guard turns to face him. The guard stands up, uncrosses his tree trunk arms, and stalks over to the couch.

Tony tries to scramble up, but doesn’t make it anywhere at all until the guard is leaning a knee on the cushion next to Tony’s waist, his hand braced on the back of the couch.

He refuses to let his face show trepidation. He holds in his fear, holds in the spike of heat from the close contact, and bites the inside of his cheek.

“You are my mission. I do what is told of me. You will stop trying my patience.”

His voice is low, deep, a growl full of command. Tony hates it, hates his guard, for the twitch of his cock under his clothes.

“You’re supposed to protect me. The fuck you gonna do?” Tony’s voice is full of fake bravado. He’s testing the guard again, wading out into the waters, seeing just how far he can push.

He’s caught by his guard’s current. His guard picks Tony up, slinging him over his shoulder, and Tony barely has long enough to take in the view of his guard’s _perfect_ ass before he’s shoved into his room. The door has both an inside and outside lock, a feature his landlord never explained, and his guard locks him in.

Tony screams in frustration, pounding on the door.

“Hey! Hey, you can’t do this! What if I have to use the bathroom? What if I get hungry or thirsty? Let me out right now!”

The guard ignores him, but Tony can see his shadow under the door. He hits the door again, rage filling him, and yells, “Let me _out_ , you jerk!”

The door is yanked open and Tony stumbles into the guard’s arms. He’s shoved up against a wall, and his face is right next to the guard’s mask.

“ _Don’t_ call me that.”

Progress. “Well, what the fuck else am I supposed to call you?”

The silence is loud between them, and Tony worries they’re not actually going to get anywhere at all until his guard tilts his head, the movement infinitesimal, and says, “… James.”

* * *

A few days go by of Tony ignoring _James_ for locking Tony in his room like a bratty child. They eventually reach a truce when James forces a Burger King hamburger into his face.

“I didn’t even notice you left,” Tony says.

“You don’t notice many things. You are unobservant, like a bird flying into glass.”

Tony shrugs off the insult, too captivated by the American hamburger in his hands.

“Did you get any fries?” Tony asks.

He holds back a grin at the large fry shoved into his hand.

* * *

Tony can’t stop his curiosity and intrigue from consuming all his waking thoughts. He looks at James, confused and captivated by him.

“Why don’t you ever take off your mask?” Tony asks. He can’t stop himself. He knows there must be a good reason for him to have never seen James’s face, but Tony needs to know.

“It isn’t necessary for the mission.”

“I’ve never seen you eat or drink, dude. I’ve never even seen you come out of the bathroom. I know you have to, but come on. It’s just me. It’s not like you’re gonna let me leave the apartment anyway, so I’m the only one who’s gonna see. I won’t tell.”

Tony isn’t the best at recognizing and identifying body language, but he’s pretty damn good at it, and James has hesitation written plain across his person. Tony is just about to tell him to forget it—he might be a dick, or a brat, or whatever you want to call him, but Tony isn’t about to make him uncomfortable just for doing his _job_.

Before he can say anything, James reaches up, pulling the goggles off his face. Tony’s breath hitches. His jaw goes slack as James’s fingers trail down his upper jaw, flicking an invisible catch. James pulls off the mask and Tony just—stops.

He’s _gorgeous_.

There’s stubble along his face, even and enticing, and his jawline is strong. His lips aren’t big, but they’re not small, thin and smooth and beautiful. His nose is almost completely straight, a small ridge in the center of it supplying a glimmer of character. 

But his eyes—

Tony could get lost in his eyes forever. Fuck, his eyes.

They’re like the center of the Grand Prismatic Spring at Yellowstone. They’re like the color of the sky on a cloudy day over the ocean, bright and yearning. The color swirls in his eyes, captivating in its intensity, and Tony is lost.

“Oh,” he breathes, and James’s eyebrows furrow.

Yeah. Tony is lost.

* * *

Tony has had a few handjobs and blowjobs, okay? He’s not a complete virgin. He’s had a few guys and girls on their knees for him. He knows he’s attractive, that people want him. They just tend to stop once they find out his age.

So. He wants James. James has to know how old he is, right? Surely Howard told him.

Tony tries to show off for him. He wears his tightest tank tops. He bends over at the waist instead of with his knees when James is behind him. He trails a hand down James’s arms—at first, both arms, but James had flinched away when Tony had touched the metal one, so he sticks to the flesh one now—and bats his eyelashes. Anything he can think of to show his interest, to get James to notice Tony’s want, he does.

He knows he’s hot shit. James should be appreciative that Tony is spending his energy on him.

But James isn’t responding to any of it. He doesn’t even act like he _notices_.

Tony stares at his ridiculous, handsome face, and Tony plots.

Tony hates being ignored. It’s time to do something that will force James to notice him.

* * *

Christmas morning comes around. Tony wakes up in bed, confident in every movement he makes, and stretches. He doesn’t bother with a shirt. He has a few pairs of Armani boxer briefs, and he chooses the deep red ones that match his favorite car—a 1932 Ford Flathead Roadster, which his dad keeps locked away at the house, but it is without a doubt _Tony’s_ car—and slips them on.

He’s surprised to hear James in the shower, but it works better for Tony’s plan anyway. He heads out into the living room and places a box he had made up the other day next to him.

Reaching into his underwear, he pulls out his cock and balls. Just thinking of what he’s going to do has his blood pumping and he’s already half hard. He strokes it just enough to get it to full hardness, luxuriating in the feeling for a moment before he grabs the box and places it over his lap.

James comes out of the living room with his entire outfit on, and if Tony hadn’t’ve heard him in the shower just minutes before, he wouldn’t have believed it.

A smirk crawls up his face and he leans his head back against the couch’s headrest, letting his eyelashes drop as he takes in James’s curious stance.

“Sorry I didn’t have time to get you anything. Couldn’t really leave the apartment and all. Had to make do.”

James wanders over, his eyes narrowed and unreadable, and stops in between Tony’s legs, staring into his face.

He reaches down and opens the lid on the box.

Tony knows he’s got an air of confidence around him. He spreads his legs wider, exposing more of himself to James’s gaze, and waits for James to give in.

“Oh, doll,” James purrs. Tony feels whiplash at the complete change in his voice. It’s less hard, still growly and deep, but there’s an edge to it, like a low drawl mixed with an accent familiar and yet not. James’s bulk crowds against Tony in the chair, tossing the box away, and his entire demeanor shifts into _predator, on the prowl_. Tony is glad he’s sitting, because he’s sure his knees would’ve gone weak otherwise.

“If ya wanted me to fuck you that bad, all ya had to do was ask.”


End file.
